


Stiles Stilinski, Clueless Sex God

by Saraste



Series: Stiles Stilinski, Geek God of Sex in Plaid [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, Stiles is Wanton Sex God in Plaid, Stiles is clueless... or is he?, Stiles' fingers, daydreaming! Derek, derek is still a werewolf, my knowledge of the US university system comes from second hand knowledge from tv-shows, pining! Derek, shy! Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not that it isn’t completely and utterly captivating and hot (a fact which Derek would only admit under torture) to see Stiles Stilinski wrapped up and completely immersed in a captivating book. Stiles is making porn faces at the page he's reading, like he's getting off on what he's reading, and, for a moment, Derek is half convinced that Stiles actually is reading porn. While seating in a study-nook at the humanities section of their University library.</p><p>(College AU, Derek's still a werewolf but Stiles doesn't know him even when he stars in Derek's naughty daydreams.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski, Clueless Sex God

Derek is not staring. No, he's definitely not. he's not ogling at sexy smoldering Stiles Stilinski like he's the tastiest little morsel of geek in plaid ever. He does frown over the silence forced upon the boy by the library rules. Cos, yeah, he's kinda missing the way Stiles never shuts up. But in his mind, in his run-away fantasies there are other reasons and ways to shut Stiles Stilinski up rather than a library-silence-policy. 

 

Not that it isn’t completely and utterly captivating and hot (a fact which Derek would only admit under torture) to see Stiles Stilinski wrapped up and completely immersed in a captivating book. Stiles is making porn faces at the page he's reading, like he's getting off on what he's reading, and, for a moment, Derek is half convinced that Stiles actually _is_ reading porn. While seating in a study-nook at the humanities section of their University library.

 

God Derek wishes he could _be_ that book!

 

Firstly: the way Stiles scrunches his nose is too adorable to be allowed. Which Derek... okay, there’s no denying on which side of the adorable-nose-scrunching debate he's on. So he’s not even going to try. Maybe he would, if a complete stranger were to walk up to him to where he’s sitting slumped by a table strewn with books he hasn’t read a sentence in for the last hour and ask if he found Stiles’ way of scrunching his nose while he's conentrating adorable.

 

Unless Stiles were to be the one asking, which he won’t be, a fact that makes Derek a lot empty inside. And then he feels like a fool, because why would Stiles even talk to him, he’s a nobody and Stiles is sex on legs. (Legs that feature in several of Derek's favorite fantasies.)

 

Why would Stiles Stilinski even spare him a glance? The boy (and why does Derek even call him that, when he’s only a year older than himself Derek can’t fathom) is all wrapped up in gazing Lydia Martin from afar, most days. What Derek wouldn’t give to be Stiles’ default study partner instead of her. He would get to sit by Stiles as they read, bouncing his thoughts about the text, could observe Stiles reading from close up, could maybe bump his hand against his, graze his fingers against Stiles’ while reaching for a highlighter pen… his handsm his wicked indecent fingers, flipping pages like it's _decent_ , like it isn't amongst the sexiest things that Derek Hale has ever _seen_ Stiles Stilinski, gangly geek god, _do._

 

Derek can imagine, picture those fingers doing a myriad of things beside flipping the pages of a book. Trail over skin, sweaty and slick, dip and disappear under clothes, caress and tease. Tweak, twist, torment. Sneak behind and _penetrate_ , finding just the right places and pistoning in and out with wild slick abandon as Derek becomes undone, begging to be --- 

 

And oh, Derek had to adjust his pants now, when his daydreams get away from him again. Not that it helps, because... Images of crowding Stiles against a stack of books flood his mind, taking his fingers and sucking them into his mouth, claiming his lips in a sweet kiss. Reading to Stiles while stroking his hand along his naked back in his bed in his dorm room, private and cocooned in a world of their own. Laying on his back, as Stiles' wicked naughty fingers do their best to try and make him falter --- Derek gasps and his eyes focus on what Stiles is actually doing rather than what his thoughts are supplying him with.

 

And it’s not much better. Because Stiles is biting his lip, his brows furrowed as he’s focusing on the page. It shouldn’t be allowed, Derek thinks. Because it gets him going again. His mind takes the innocent action into the realm of fantasies again. Derek just sees Stiles biting his lip, struggling to stay silent as Derek goes down on him. Licks and sucks and just plies Stiles apart, having the boy completely at his mercy, those gorgeous brown golden eyes looking down at him, full of want…

 

You’d think that Derek would never enter a library with the way the mere sight of Stiles had him hard and wanting, daydreams going a mile a minute. You’d think. But it’s a form of torture Derek’s bestowing upon himself. And besides, it's not as if he's strong enough to stay away.

 

He’s too addicted to Stiles and books to let an opportunity like this pass. Sure, he’ll go to his dorm room later, lock the door and jerk himself repeatedly, replaying whatever Stiles has done in his head, let his wild fantasies run free. But that’s after. Now he’ll just observe, pine and want.

 

The thoughts which don’t help matters are those where Derek imagines approaching Stiles and leading him to a far corner in between the shelves and propositioning him, trying to make his R-rated daydreams a reality. Well, oh, point blank trying to seduce Stiles and pressing him against a shelf, kissing him hard and pressing, fucking and making Stiles undone. Or just leading Stiles there, and letting him take the initiative, which is the more likely scenario, if ever his scenarios have any likelihood to become reality.

 

Yeah, not helping the tightness inside his jeans at all.

 

Derek’s so glad Stiles isn’t a werewolf, because he knows the smell of arousal, of bone deep want, is etched to his skin, wafting around him like a fucking sigil. It’s enough to have his pack throwing snide remarks around. Teasing him mercilessly over his lack of taking action when it comes to Stiles Stilinski and his Stiles-shaped-infatuation/obsession/sexual-frustration. 

 

Derek wants to do it so bad. Wants to have his fingers on Stiles, to have Stiles fingers on him. Wants to peel off his clothes, layer by layer, until he’s naked and Derek can lick him all over, mark him as his, drown in his scent. And have Stiles touching him, kissing him, using those lips of his in wicked ways.

 

And now Stiles is letting his tongue slip out, licking his lips and flicking his book lazily to the next page, his fingers nigh fucking the fucking page. 

 

Derek swears he’s stopped breathing as images of what Stiles’ tongue and fingers could do. It’s getting a bit too much. Derek’s shaking. 

 

He's _not_ jealous to a _book._

 

Derek had to look away because it's just fucking _too much._ Stiles is perfect, there's no way he'd ever want a creeper like Derek, who's fucking stalking him in a _library,_ and who's jealous to his books! He’s lost in his own world when the impossible happens.

 

A stack of books are unceremoniously dropped onto the desk where his notes are spread open upon his untouched reference books. Derek starts and looks up, he can’t believe anyone could have sneaked up on him like that, that he could slip that bad, be so lost in his thoughts that he wouldn’t sense someone coming.

 

He looks up right into the smirking face of one Stiles Stilinski, wanton sex god and book molester, who’s looking down at him, brown eyes mischievous and laughing. Derek feels like his heart has stopped beating. His senses are in lock-down from the shock.

 

“Wanna go to the folklore section and make out?” is Stiles' opening gambit.

 

Derek can but stare, his breath hitching in his throat. He’s in utter and complete shock over the fact that Stiles is even talking to him let alone suggesting what he’s suggesting. Surely Derek can’t have heard Stiles right? Because why would this be happening? His senses – which seemed to have shut down from shock – are now zeroing in on one fact, which is all Derek can focus on. 

 

Stiles’ scent i wonderful and unexpected as its washing over him. The scent of his arousal is overwhelming. It breaks something deep down in Derek.

 

“You mean to say you think I’ve _not_ seen you panting after me?” Stiles asks, reaching towards Derek, crowding into his space, hand on his shoulder, a brand, his _claim_. “If you haven’t yet realized,” Stiles continues, biting his lower lip, smirking as he hears Derek gasp, and Derek’s brain needs to be on now, not doing cartwheels because Stiles _is_ interested, “...I’m very observant,” Stiles finishes, leaning even closer still.

 

Derek is flooded over with the smell of detergent, a little sweat and the pure smell of Stiles, woodsy, laced heavy with his interest. Derek’s eyes are glued to Stiles’ mouth, his lips as they move along his words, his groin even more aching now, cock jumping in delight inside his all too snugly fitting jeans. (Which he may or may not be wearing to attract Stiles' interest, as small as that possibility has seemed until now.)

 

Derek thinks that he should wear a more loose fitting pair, next time.

 

Stiles leans in closer and Derek’s sure he could count his lashes and the flecks of gold in his warm cinnamon eyes, his hand slides down Derek’s arm and his legs bump against Derek’s where he’s still sitting. Stiles smiles and his lips make contact with Derek’s, a fleeting butterfly touch which short-circuits everything in Derek, stops all rational thought and reboots his brain so all he can think about are how Stiles’ lips feel. 

 

Stiles Stilinski, geek god of sexy in plaid, is _kissing_ him. Derek doesn't lean closer, doesn't dare, but surrenders to the impossible warmth of Stiles' lips. It's all over too soon, the lips parting his, an ache to have them back where they were burning bright. 

 

Derek has lost all sense of space but for the inch that separates his and Stiles’ lips. He's smothering his wolf down, it's eager and wants nothing but throw Stiles onto the floor and just ravish him there. 

 

“Come on,” Stiles’ breathes against his lips, stealing another light kiss, tugging Derek up.

 

Derek crashes to reality, the hushes library around them, the tight grip Stiles has on his arm and he follows. He still can’t quite believe that it’s all happening. But he knows that it is. That's Stiles' hand in his, those wicked long indecent fingers wrapped around his ungainly paws, leading him somewhere, Derek's forgotten, but he'll follow anywhere.

 

He follows because what other choice does he have, really? Part of him still thinks that he’s dreaming, still back there sitting at his desk with his books and notes and that stupid besotted grin on his face which he knows he can’t really hide, with his jeans… Well, they feel even more constricting now, now that Stiles’ grip on his hand is creating a pulsing line from his arm down to his groin, as well as from his lips down. His lips which Stiles has kissed, has left wanting for more, has branded and ruined for anyone else.

 

But no.

 

Derek’s following Stiles, his ears registering an eager jumpy heartbeat, comparing it to Stiles’ normal rhythm because, just, he’s a creep and could pinpoint Stiles by his normal heartbeat alone in a crowded room. That and his scent. Derek feels like he’s drowning in it, and he doesn’t fucking care if he is. Because it’s Stiles. Stiles’ converses are squeaking on the floor and he barely registers the silence that washes over them as they wind their way through shelves of books.

 

Stiles’ hand holding to him is a brand, his kisses a claim and his scent a promise.

 

Finally Stiles is pressing him up against a shelf, lips on his again but insistent and hot and hard this time around. Derek’s kissing back, needy and insistent, before his brain can even catch up to what’s even happening. Before he can think _past Stiles’ lips. On mine. OH GOD!_

 

Stiles is having a really bad effect on his werewolf instincts, taking him by surprise all the time. Not that Derek is complaining, because he certainly is not. Not when Stiles is pressed against him, kissing him hungrily, pressing against his lips like he's always belonged there.

 

Stiles presses even closer, hard and needy and impatient, glasses askew, plastered to Derek’s front, bucking and grinding. His scent is an intoxicating mix of arousal and his essential smell, making Derek feel like he’s drunk, drunk on arousal. Derek pushes back, grunting as their lips slip apart for a second. Stiles’ erection is pressed to his hip while his own is pressed to Stiles’ thigh. They’ve soon got a rhythm and are rutting, unashamed and wild, just grinding and grinding against each other.

 

It feels better than Derek could ever have imagined. Stiles fingers are _indeed_ very, very wicked and find all the best spots, and tease and torment.

 

Derek swallows Stiles’ giggle as they come apart for a moment to breathe, snatching his lips captive with his own, suckling. He can’t get enough of Stiles’ lips, they’re addicting. Part of him thinks that this is it, that this will be all he's ever going to get, that Stiles is just horny and needs release. But Derek squashes that thought down, there's no room in his head for that when Stiles' tongue is past his lips and twisting wildly with his own.

 

“Dammit, if I’d known you’re this hot and bothered over me I’d have done this weeks ago,” Stiles lets out breathlessly as they come apart again. Stiles has somehow gotten Derek to wrap one of his legs up his waist and has maneuvered them so that they’re pressed together crotch to crotch. Derek’s never hated his jeans more. Then Stiles is kissing him again, hard.

 

It’s all that it takes for Derek to come. Knowing that Stiles has known. That Stiles _wants_ this, that it isn't just release. That Stiles is eager, as eager as himself. It makes Derek stumble over the edge, bite down on Stiles’ plump lower lip with human teeth. He hasn’t come in his pants in years. Yet he can’t bring himself to care. 

 

After a few frantic ruts Stiles follows suit and Derek swallows his gasp, hands wound tight around his waist. Stiles’ head drops wearily onto Derek’s shoulder and his breaths are hot puffs of air against Derek’s neck. They just stand there in their jizzed jeans and catch their collective breaths. 

Derek is of the opinion that being sated and boneless is a very good look on Stiles and that no-one should get to see it if he has anything to do with that. 

 

“There,” Stiles finally says while they’re still recuperating, sounding smug, “That was more than nice. No clothes next time, though, I think. Fancy a coffee?” As he asks, he moves his head and looks up into Derek, the brown of his eyes almost covered with his still somewhat blown pupils. 

 

Derek thinks he’s the luckiest guy alive. And, being who he is, he has to ask, because he’s just that stupid. “Do you even know my name?” He wants to hit himself. He can feel Stiles’ chuckles vibrating through his body where the boys torso is pressed against his. 

 

“You think I’d have done this with someone whose name I don’t even know? Of course I know who you are. You’re Derek Hale, the hot creeper who’s been staring at me at least once a week at the library reading room all this semester, and in the cafeteria, and in the halls and I think that one freshman class I know you weren’t even supposed to be in, being as you’re not a freshman.”

 

Derek, of all things that he could do, actually blushes. He can’t believe he’s been that obvious. All he’s wanted to do was see as much of Stiles as he can, ever since that first time he saw him on that one day in September. The memory comes back to him vivid now, Stiles, laughing with books in his arms, in a crowd of friends but Derek had seen only him. And now that he's here, in Derek’s arms and it’s hard to believe that it’s true. 

 

But then Stiles is kissing him again and Derek knows that it is.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was mostly written while drinking coffee at the cafe of the local non-University library. I don't know, shy!Derek just popped into my head and started to moon after Stiles.
> 
> I might write more...
> 
> Also, my knowledge of the US college/university system comes from second hand knowhow through the consumption of several tv shows, so all mistakes are mine.


End file.
